


in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman)

by middlemarch



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Angst, Episode 8, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Orders, Post-Attack, Romance, Sleep, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: They'd finally been left alone when the witches and vampires agreed it was best that way.First posted on Tumblr in response to a gif-set for Episode 8.





	in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman)

“Matthew.” 

Just his name—he wasn’t sure if Diana meant to say more and hadn’t the strength or whether she was simply reminding herself he was there, whole, healed by her at a cost he still couldn’t count. She should never have been put in such grave danger, he couldn’t understand how he’d failed to notice Juliette’s arrival. He brushed his lips against her fingers, found them still too cool. Her magic was not depleted but he sensed it had pulled inward, some necessary retreat. 

“What is it?”

“Come to bed,” she said.

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her.

“No,” she replied, more forcefully than she had any right to, having nearly died only a few hours ago, at his mercy and her Goddess’s. Sarah had made her drink a cup of tea to its dregs, coaxing instead of scolding her to finish it, pushing it into Matthew’s hand when Diana turned her head away.

“You need to rest now, _ma caille_,” he said.

“I can’t rest with you so far away,” she said. Her hand trembled in his. 

“Get in bed, Matéu,” she repeated, saying it the old way, understanding, perhaps, that he would follow orders more easily when called so, more used to taking instruction in the rich Occitan accent of his distant youth. It would hurt her more to argue than to lie beside her. He rested her hand on the quilt and climbed in, shifting very delicately to get close to her.

“S’better,” she murmured.

“Sleep now. I’ve got you,” he said, embracing her lightly, breathing in the scent of her neck. He knew it now in a wordless way, having taken the blood she gave him. He didn’t crave her, he was bound to her, sustained by her. He felt her relax into sleep and knew her blood within him called him to do the same. He allowed himself to doze, still aware of the soft gold light of the lanterns Em had lit, the shadows in the corners, the house drawing itself around them like a cloak.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Milan Kundera.
> 
> _Ma caille_ is a French endearment that means "my quail."


End file.
